


the promise to be near

by irenebullock



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boater Hats, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irenebullock/pseuds/irenebullock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very prospect of having a future to plan, wide open and thrillingly interminable, was still enough to overwhelm Steve on the best of days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the promise to be near

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr as part of the Steggy Secret Santa Exchange. After asking a friend to pick a random prompt, she supplied me with "boater hat," but I had fun incorporating it.
> 
> I remembered while writing this pairing that fluff doesn't come naturally to me at all. In fact, it's probably the fluffiest thing I've ever written, which might be evident, but these two deserve all the fix-it AUs. Revised title taken from "That's All," one of my favorite standards.

In the closing days of 1946, Steve had already decided that 1947 was going to be a very good year. Not that ‘46 had been a washout, far from it. The war was over, he and the Commandos had all, miraculously, survived, and Peggy had returned with him to Brooklyn to work for the SSR (and had already racked up two promotions). They were both becoming well-settled in their own place, in home and career, and Steve had even found time to start attending art classes again, a luxury that he had been forced to give up after his mother’s death.

The year, with its rapid changes – happy as they were – had simply rushed by too quickly for him to take stock of his future. After years of constant strategizing and violent combat, never knowing if he would survive to see another day, the very prospect of having a future to plan, wide open and thrillingly interminable, was still enough to overwhelm him on the best of days.

Certain people, however, transcended this feeling. In at least one area, he knew exactly what he wanted for the rest of his life, and he had determined this Christmas to bring it to fruition. After living with Peggy for over a year, Steve had reasonable faith in his ability not to bungle a proposal of marriage and to his own surprise, was not too terribly nervous. 1947, he was sure, would be a time for solidifying bonds and taking chances in multiple respects ( _though when had he ever not taken chances?_ , he reminded himself). As it happened, on the day he planned to ask Peggy to marry him, Steve had had the apartment to himself for the afternoon and, feeling a smidge more bravado than usual, had deigned to embark on a new adventure. Sartorially speaking.

***

“Darling, _what_ possessed you to place that ridiculous thing on your head?”

Steve looked up from his sketchbook, turning around sharply to see Peggy gaping at him from the doorway to their apartment. Her arms cradled a tall stack of brightly colored packages reaching up to her nose, so that only her brown eyes, wide, amused, and a bit bewildered, were visible.

He flushed red and hurried over to her, chivalry – so he told himself – prompting him to ignore her question and instead help her place the packages on their small, worn sofa.

“Sorry, I didn’t even hear you come in. I was, uh, distracted. I’ve been at this view for a while now and I didn’t want to miss the light–”

“Yes, I remember. You were already well under way with it when I left. I love seeing you absorbed like that, you needn’t worry. That, on the other hand –” she murmured, pointing to the top of Steve’s head. “I must admit, that concerns me.”

Steve reached up uncertainly to touch the hat. In truth, he hadn’t been planning on wearing it when Peggy came home (fashion notwithstanding, he preferred to be hatless when proposing marriage) but her reaction still smarted just slightly.

“A friend from class gave it to me. He said it might suit me, and to be honest, most of the other fellows in the class dress sort of…”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Is this, by any chance, the same friend who told you to grow that beard last month?”

Steve’s expression gave him away. “I really don’t – I mean, it’s just trying something new – ”

“Now, darling, don’t worry about the beard; it actually suits you. But I’m afraid a boater hat is really a bridge too far. You are neither Harold Lloyd nor a member of a barbershop quartet.” She smiled at him teasingly to soften the remark before she reached up to remove the hat, adorned with bright red ribbon, and tossed it on a corner table. _At least it’s seasonal_ , she thought to herself and brushed a lock of hair from Steve’s forehead, wrapping her other hand around his neck and pulling him down to kiss him softly.

Steve sighed as she pulled away. “Did it really look that silly? The hat?”

“Not to your art school compatriots, I’d imagine,” Peggy laughed. “As I said, I appreciate the beard, but is there any particular reason why they’ve elected to make you their project? Should I be expecting pinstriped trousers next?”

“Definitely not now,” Steve muttered. “I wouldn’t say I’m a project, but the hats have been making the rounds lately, sort of a trend. It’s…” He trailed off, glancing over at the hat sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s pretty silly. Not exactly the weather for it either, huh?”

“No, not really. Though that might be the point for some, if you know the type I mean,” Peggy replied, causing Steve to laugh outright. His flustered reaction had abated by now, and he felt oddly more relaxed about the question he had planned for that evening.

***

The feeling of easy confidence lasted about as long as Steve was able to distract himself with time and productive tasks. Several hours later, he had finished helping Peggy unbox and wrap her packages (her gifts for him having already been obtained and carefully hidden “elsewhere,” which he took to mean with Angie), and prepared a dinner, ornamented by candlelight, that Peggy, at least, had eaten with great relish while telling him about her adventures in Brooklyn’s department stores. As he picked at his own sandwich, Steve was dismayed to feel his old nerves creeping back, as if he were still Private Rogers bungling his first conversation with Agent Carter (he still cringed when thinking of that damned “dame” comment); all his carefully rehearsed words, in fact, had vacated his mind. To make matters worse, Peggy was now gazing at him speculatively over her wine glass, an expression he enjoyed seeing on her – when it wasn’t directed at him.

It occurred to him that she had already guessed what he had planned. _Of course_ she would; it was part of her job to be able to read people and situations, and when had he ever not been an open book with her? He had considered taking her to a restaurant, but that approach had seemed obvious, and the small part of himself that still felt amazed that a woman like Peggy Carter would give him the time of day preferred not to risk rejection in a public setting. But hell, it was still obvious, wasn’t it? The time of year, just a few days before Christmas, the candlelight – Steve suddenly glared, absurdly, at the dripping wax of the red and green candles on the table – the setting was all glaringly apparent, even cliché. He knew Peggy, for all her warmth and goodness, would never be one for romantic trappings. Did she think he was being–

“I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

It took Steve a moment to clear his racing mind before answering her. “Hurt my feelings? About what?”

Peggy looked to the side for a moment before turning back. “About the hat, I mean. Well, not the hat, really, but the idea behind it. You had mentioned wanting to try new things, and I don’t want to discourage you from… experimenting a bit, with clothes and such, if it makes you happy. It just seemed so unlike you.”

Steve tried to hide the relief in his face. “That hat didn’t suit me. But I appreciate the support if I decide to start carrying around a silver-tipped cane.”

“I understand the appeal of some _outré_ fashions, but don’t you dare,” Peggy giggled. She reached over and cupped Steve’s cheek fondly, running her thumb across the dark blonde hair. “But even with that boater hat, there was something about you…once I got over my startlement, seeing you in it with your beard, and your hair falling into your eyes – leaning over your sketchpad – for a minute, you almost reminded me of one of those Montparnos I would see in France when I was a little girl.”

“Montparnos? That has to do with Montparnasse, right?”

“Yes, Montparnasse in the ‘20s… _les peintres, les littérateurs_. You looked like one.”

Steve smiled ruefully. “From twenty years ago. And here Frank was telling me to be less old-fashioned.”

“Frank is the colleague who foisted the hat on you? He thinks you’re old-fashioned?” Peggy asked, tilting her head.

Steve nodded. “Square, to be exact.”

Peggy lifted her hand to her mouth to stifle another giggle. “My dearest Captain, you _are_ square. In some respects, important ones. Square as an ice cube and I truly would not have you any other way.” She raised a hand when she saw Steve’s face fall. “Don’t misunderstand me. You think I mean boring and conventional. You are never boring, even when you should be, which I think you must be the first to admit, and you are one of the most _un_ conventional people I’ve ever met – mostly because of those very qualities _Frank_ ” – here, her voice lifted up sarcastically – “would use to diminish you. You are kind and loyal and dependable and very likely more of an independent thinker than dear old _Frank_ with his, I assure you, self-started winter boater hat trends could ever hope to be.” She punctuated her last sentence with a firm nod and long swig from her wine glass.

Steve simply gazed at Peggy for a long moment before going over to the other side of the table, pulling her into his arms, and kissing her. She responded with alacrity for several moments, finally breaking the kiss to whisper into his ear: “Now would be the perfect moment, darling.”

Steve pulled back. “The perfect moment…”

“A candlelit dinner is a universal signifier, Steve.”

Steve chuckled and kissed her again. “So you did guess. I was starting to think you might be put off by the setting. Too corny or something.” He leaned down to murmur teasingly: “Too square.”

“Did I not tell you five minutes ago I wouldn’t have you any other way? Don’t worry, though – we’ll keep it a secret from Frank so he doesn’t know I’ve made an even _more_ honest man of you.”

Steve embraced Peggy tightly and lifted her off the ground, overcome with relief and joy and a strengthening hope for 1947 and all the years ahead.


End file.
